


Spider Season

by Selador



Series: a brand new web [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Ben Urich Lives, Eventual World Building, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Fix-It, Gen, Mrs. Cardenas Lives, Not Canon Compliant, Peter is an intern at the Bulletin, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker, consequences of being a teenaged superhero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: Peter Parker is Ben Urich's intern at the Bulletin. He's alright, as far as interns go. Bad coffee, but he fights crime bosses who want Ben dead. That wins a lot of points with Ben, that's for sure.





	Spider Season

**Author's Note:**

> guess who was upset that mrs. cardenas and ben urich die in daredevil? me. i was. so i fixed it.
> 
> i play loose and fast with canon. 
> 
> the series will focus on peter's interactions with other superheroes and journey as a hero, and will be updated whenever i feel like. the fact that this story is complete doesn't mean i won'thave more Peter & Matt and Peter & Ben, just that the story arc for season 1 is taken care of in this fic
> 
> Note: added in some Spanish translations at the end, meant to do that before.

Matt takes much longer than he should to realize that Spider-Man is lurking about Hell’s Kitchen. Spider-Man’s only beginning to make whispers in the news, and the moniker is one some two-bit paper uses that sticks.

Unfortunately, Matt’s day job and his nightly activities don’t leave much time for news unrelated to Fisk and Hell’s Kitchen, and Spider-Man works almost solely in Queens.

Or he did. Now he’s spending almost part of every night prowling Hell’s Kitchen.

Matt doesn’t know why, and every time he tries to sneak up on him, Spider-Man uses something small and mechanical on his wrists to shoot out an odd mixture of chemicals that allows him to swing right off of the building and away.

Matt, even knowing his city as well as he does, can’t keep up with _that_. And as Spider-Man seems to have no interest in speaking to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Matt is left with using other means to discover why he’s there.

At first it seems he has no pattern for his path through Hell’s Kitchen, but there are a few spots Spider-Man swings by every night. Matt follows through his trail, head quirked, trying to listen for whatever keeps bringing Spider-Man back to his neighborhood.

There are a lot of people in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt can hear a variety of dealings going on—but Spider-Man doesn’t _stop_ for any of them.

Until, eventually, he stops by a window. By sticking _directly to the wall_ , what the…

Matt waits, breath frozen in his chest, not sure how sensitive Spider-Man’s own senses are and because the window he’s at is _Ben Urich’s_ apartment.

Peering inside.

And… Ben isn’t there. Matt releases the breath in his lung, a moment too soon, because Spider-Man seems to realize the same thing he does, and is swinging away before Matt has even a hope to catch up.

_Shit._

Matt needs to find out what Spider-Man’s goals are, or who’s he’s working for, _fast._ If Fisk has a mutant on payroll…

Then Matt needs to take care of it. Quickly.

…

“Karen,” Matt says, when he’s in the office the next day, “would you mind looking up Spider-Man for me?”

“Oh, sure!” Karen says, typing out ‘spiderman’ very quickly onto her keyboard. “In general, or something specific?”

“In general,” Matt says. “I heard something about him on the radio this morning. Seems worthwhile to keep track of what superhumans are running around New York, given, you know.” Matt smiles, shrugging. “He’s new, isn’t he?”

“Hm, he’s been active for a few months,” Karen mutters, a frown in her voice. “Definitely New York City based. Stops petty crime, so why is he getting so much negative press…” Her heart speeds up. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Matt echoes, placing his cane in front of him with both hands, giving her his full attention.

“He’s, uh. Not popular with law enforcement. He’s webbed up cops harassing people, apparently,” Karen says. “And… breaks into corporations and posts evidence of crimes they’ve committed… on his twitter. Oh, look, he has a twitter.”

“Is it authenticated?” Matt asks, wondering how that would even work. How do you authenticate a superhero’s social media accounts?

What kind of superhero even _has_ social media accounts?

The wheel of the mouse scrolls under Karen’s finger. “It is.” A pause, as she clicks something. “Jesus… if we could get this type of evidence for our cases, you and Foggy would have it easy.”

“If only,” Matt says with a smile, “what about his powers?”

Karen hums, the sound vibrating the air around her. “He has webs he shoots out of his wrists. No one’s sure if it’s organic or not, ew,” she says, her face scrunching in disgust. Matt considers the mechanisms he heard the night before. The webs are _not_ a superpower, then, but something he or an accomplice built. What is the web fluid, in that case? Did he or whoever is working with him design it? “It disintegrates after a couple of hours, apparently. Also probably super strength. No one seems to know more than that.”

“No one’s been able to catch him for a conversation, huh,” Matt muses, thinking about how _fast_ Spider-Man was.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Karen says. “And if they did, they’re not talking.”

“Interesting.”

“It seems like he’s doing some good,” Karen says. “Maybe I should message him to check out Union Allied.”

Matt snorts but asks, genuinely curious, “Can you?”

“No, not unless he decides to follow me back. Otherwise I’d have to tweet my message publically and _at_ him.” Karen says, not really paying much mind to Matt at this point. “And I’d rather not do that.”

“No, that’s definitely a bad idea,” Matt says. “Sounds like an interesting guy.”

“I know he’s breaking the law,” Karen says, “but it sounds like… he’s doing good work.”

Matt mulls that over. “Law and justice don’t always go hand in hand,” he agrees. “Another vigilante worries me though. We already have the Devil. Not sure if we need a Spider-Man.”

“I don’t see anything about him being in Hell’s Kitchen, actually,” Karen says. “Maybe the masked man is keeping him away?”

“Maybe,” Matt hedges. Foggy’s climbing up the stairs to their office, the sweet aroma of donuts wafting up ahead of him. If Spider-Man hasn’t been seen in Hell’s Kitchen, then he’s just swinging through during his nightly patrol? To what end?

And what does Ben Urich have to do with it?

…

Matt doesn’t have time to question Ben before Spider-Man drops in for a chat.

A chat, specifically, with Matt Murdock.

And to his shame, it takes Matt a minute to realize someone is in his apartment, because Spider-Man’s heart rate is so low Matt couldn’t even discern that it _is_ a heart beat, and his body temperature is… room temperature.

He’s still a presence that Matt can pick out passively, but he doesn't really ever expect to have a guest wait on his ceiling.

When he realizes, standing in his kitchen after peeling his tie and jacket off, his shoulders go tense. Spider-Man is watching him, and Matt can’t reveal his hand to acknowledging his presence.

Despite how uneasy it makes him, Matt forces himself not to react. He fills the glass, and then lifts it up for a sip, relying on the fact that there have been no reports of Spider-Man killing anyone. Or even causing unnecessary harm.

The seconds drag on to eternity, as Matt plays at the harmless blind man, waiting for Spider-Man to make a move.

And he does. He drops down from the ceiling onto the floor, making an audible _whump_ sound that Matt is certain is intentional. Even if it isn’t, he clears his throat, so Matt has every reason to drop his glass in surprise—which falls to the floor and breaks, the sound of it echoing up and around him—to whirl around.

“Who’s there?” Matt demands, widening his eyes and leaning against his counter.

“Matt Murdock?” Spider-Man says, making his voice deeper, much like when Matt speaks as the masked man. “With Nelson and Murdock?”

“I’ll call the cops,” Matt says. “You won’t get away with… whatever you’re going to do. If you’re here to steal something, just take it.”

“Uh, no, sorry, I’m not—” he rubs the back of his head. He’s not in any kind of aggressive position, so Matt can relax minutely, but _why_ is Spider-Man in _Matt Murdock’s_ apartment? Did he figure out who has been following him on his patrols and traced them back to Matt? _Shit!_

“Sorry, you can’t—I’m Spider-Man,” he says, “I’m not here to hurt you, I just wanted… to ask you some questions?”

“Some questions,” Matt repeats. Is this how other people feel when he drops in on them in costume? “What about?”

“You’ve been working with Ben Urich,” Spider-Man says, and it’s… not great, how even Spider-Man knows that.

“That’s not a question,” Matt says.

“Right. Lawyer,” Spider-Man mutters. More loudly, “Who’s Wilson Fisk?”

“You didn’t see the press conference?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, yeah, but I’ve been—look, I know he’s behind some shady shit, and I’m... offering to help.”

“Why?” Matt asks. “Why involve yourself?”

“Well, I mean, it’s kinda what I do, dude,” Spider-Man says, shrugging a bit. Infuriatingly, Matt can’t tell if he’s lying. His heart rate is _too slow_ to pick out a lie. “Is there a reason why I _shouldn’t_ help?”

Spider-Man doesn’t know who Matt is, then. That’s… a relief, though it makes matters more complicated. Matt hadn’t thought he would ever encounter Spider-Man out of costume.

“We’re still working on a strategy,” Matt tells him, not sure if the offer to point Spider-Man in Fisk’s direction is genuine. And if it is, which way to point him. There are leads Matt needs to follow, but he can’t tell Spider-Man how he acquired these leads, and he can’t trust he would bring the information he needed back.

“Wilson Fisk is currently trying to forcibly evict one of our clients from her home,” Matt says, cautiously. There are no records that Spider-Man has hurt anyone, but that is not necessarily true. Fear of his friends and clients dying has its claws wedged deep into his soul, though, and if Spider-Man is offering to help… Matt would be a damned fool if he didn’t use all the resources at his disposal. “We’re all trying to keep an eye on her, and the building, but we can’t be there all the time.”

“Whoa, you think he’s gonna hire a hit on her?” Spider-Man says. Matt frowns. That kind of phrasing seemed more appropriate to someone fairly young. “Yeah, sure, I can keep an eye out. Where’s her apartment? And her name?”

Matt gives him Elena Cardenas’ name and address, with the word of caution, “I’m trusting you based on your reputation. Namely, that you don’t hurt people. If you hurt Mrs. Cardenas…”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Spider-Man says, offense in every syllable. His heartbeat is slow and steady, like it has been the entire time, and it’s still too slow for Matt to pick out a lie.

He sounds genuine, though. Matt decides that’s enough. “Good. And,” he calls out, before Spider-Man can literally swing out of his window. “Thank you.”

Spider-Man waves a hand, and adds, “Sure, no problem!”

And he’s gone and swinging.

…

“ _Foggy. Foggy. Foggy—_ ” his phone repeats in its feminine, robotic voice. Matt picks it up, hands shaking from his unexpected meeting with Fisk.

“Foggy,” Matt says. “What’s up?”

“Mrs. Cardenas got attacked in her home,” Foggy says. Matt’s breath hitches, thinking _we got this woman killed, oh god, forgive me, we should have—_ before he continues, “She’s fine. Shaken up, but, uh, Spider-Man saved her.”

“Spider-Man saved her?” Matt repeats, getting up and throwing his clothes on. “That’s—good. That’s good. Where is she now?”

“At her apartment, we’re on our way there,” Foggy says. “She called the cops, and I’ve advised her to wait to talk to them until we arrive. How far are you?”

The _cops_. Brett might go himself, since Mrs. Cardenas is friends with his mother, but if he can’t go—

_Shit._

“I’m close by,” Matt says, running out of his apartment and down the stairs. Thankfully, his neighbors aren’t up yet, otherwise there would be some awkward questions. “I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Great, I’ll see you there, Matty,” Foggy says.

Matt hangs up and books it.

The minutes drag by even as he weaves through the inferno of a city. He’s not going to make it in time.

But he has to try.

…

Mrs. Cardenas’s heartbeat is rapid and somewhat irregular when Matt arrives because of the three _other_ heartbeats slowly chugging along to her floor in clear indication of unconsciousness.

Knocked out and covered in a material that smells like Spider-Man’s webbing are two cops ( _Fisk’s_ men, he knew they would try to finish the job) and… a guy reeking of heroin. One of Elena’s neighbors.

“ _Señor_ Murdock!” Mrs. Cardenas exclaims. Her eyes are red and her face is wet. “ _¡Los policías, intentaron dispararme!_ ”

“Mrs. Cardenas,” Matt says, moving to where she’s sitting. He can smell blood in the room, but not from the dirty cops who tried to shoot Mrs. Cardenas. _“¿Está bien? ¿Está lastimada?”_

“No, no,” she says, “Spider-Man _me salvó.”_

“He saved you?” Matt breathes, relief and gratitude a heady cocktail. _“Bien. Bien.”_

“ _Señor_ Murdock, _creo que le dispararon,”_ Mrs. Cardenas says, voice heavy and ragged. _“Cuando los policías ... él saltó frente a mí.”_

That would explain the blood, if Spider-Man got shot. By the police, no less. Matt breathes in the smell of it, and thinks he could follow whatever trail Spider-Man left behind. To make sure he’s okay.

“ _Estoy asustada,_ ” Mrs. Cardenas whispers.

“It’s okay to be scared, but don’t worry. We’ll protect you,” Matt promises, reaching out to grasp her hand and squeeze it.

Matt hears the thundering sound of approaching footsteps, and identifies Brett Mahoney, Foggy, and Karen long before they reach the door. They burst in, and Matt steps aside so Karen can sit with Mrs. Cardenas.

“Damn,” Brett says. “Shit. I’ve known these guys for years.”

“They tried to shoot Mrs. Cardenas,” Matt says coolly, stepping closer to him. “It’s only luck that Spider-Man happened to be around to save her.”

“Spider-Man?” Brett says, and so does Foggy and Karen. “Why was _Spider-Man_ here? Don’t we have enough fucking vigilantes running around Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Apparently not, if cops are going around trying to shoot elderly women in their homes,” Matt says. “We need to be careful about this, Sergeant. We don’t know who else in the precinct is dirty. Who do you know you can trust?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know a couple… shit. We need to get Mrs. Cardenas somewhere safe.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Foggy says. “No offense, Brett, but I’d rather the cops not know where we take her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Okay.” He turns away to make the calls, muttering under his breath, “Shit, Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

Bess will absolutely be pissed. It’s not enough to make Matt smile, not while Mrs. Cardenas is sobbing into Karen’s shoulder, but he enjoys the thought nonetheless.

“Foggy, can you—” Matt begins.

“Yeah, Matt, I’ll take care of this,” he says, not even turning to Matt. “You gotta work on a lead?”

“Yes. I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Matt promises, carefully stepping out of the apartment. He gets halfway across the room when Brett reaches him.

“Let me guide you out, so you don’t step on anyone. Here,” Brett says, and Matt takes his arm. He’s impatient, and as soon as he’s out of the building, Matt turns the corner on the building to where Mrs. Carneas’ window would be.

There isn’t a lot of blood. Spider-Man must have still been swinging around after he was shot.

But there’s enough for a trail. The blood smells distinct and obvious, leading Matt in a clear direction.

Bingo.

…

He dons his costume and races across the rooftops, slowing down when the trail merges with a main street.

Matt stands, hidden on the roof, trying to pinpoint where the smell of blood is coming from (and there is more blood in the air at any given moment) and he finds… he finds it.

Spider-Man is walking down the sidewalk, limping, but walking. Not in costume. Matt can smell the blood running down his leg, and hear the patch job bandage already coming loose. He’s trying to compensate in his gait for how it’s slipping, but it’s not helping.

Matt follows. When Spider-Man is alone on the street, he drops down into an alleyway, and pulls him in and out of sight.

He yelps, and stumbles along, surprisingly doesn’t try to throw any punches. “What the—!”

“Spider-Man,” Matt greets, keeping his voice even and pleasant, even as he drags Spider-Man away from the main street.

“Holy shit,” Spider-Man says, grasping his wrist and with much more strength than Matt would have expected, forcibly pulls his hand off of his jacket. “You’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“That’s what they call me,” Matt answers pleasantly. “Let me see that leg.”

“How did you know it was me?” Spider-Man asks.

“I can smell the blood from your wound. I tracked you here from that apartment building.”

“That’s… creepy, man.” He takes a step back. “My leg will be fine. Don’t—shit, you’ve seen my _face_.”

“Your wound’s bleeding quite a lot,” Matt tells him. “I can help bandage it properly.” Standing this close to Spider-Man, and not being taken by surprise or under threat, he realizes he can smell… a gym. Locker room. Plastic and number two pencils. Cheap and very, very bad cologne. All of the scents Matt can still strongly associate with high school.

“How _old_ are you?” Matt asks.

Spider-Man, who can’t be in high school, he _can’t_ , Matt did not send a teenager to protect an elderly woman from a hit, fidgets. “I, um, uh—eighteen?”

His heart beat is useless, but Matt can hear the lie anyway. “Try again.”

“Seventeen?” Spider-Man tries. Matt doesn’t move at all because he’s _lying again_ , and he’s trying to reconcile all of the dangerous activities Spider-Man has gotten up to in the news with the kid in front of him.

Peter interrupts his thoughts, “Look, what do you care? You run around beating people to death!”

“I do _not_ kill,” Matt snaps.

Spider-Man makes a disbelieving noise deep in this throat.

“I _don’t_ ,” Matt insists.

Spider-Man crosses his arms, heart rate picking up, as if he’s considering attacking Matt. Or fleeing, but that’s an aggressive posture now. “Sure have been leaving a lot of bodies behind you for a ‘no-killing’ policy.”

“That’s because I’m after a dangerous man,” Matt explains, tone as soothing as he can make it, because he doesn’t want to fight Spider-Man, and _especially_ not a teenaged boy. “One who’s willing to call a hit on an innocent old lady isn’t a man who worries about his body count.” Spider-Man’s arms fall and his head tilts down. He believes him. Good. Matt adds on, “And he’s not the kind of man who would hesitate hurting a kid, either.”

Even before the words reverberate through the alleyway, Matt can sense Spider-Man’s body stiffening and taking a step back. “I’m not a kid!”

“You’re a teenager—”

“I can take care of myself!” He protests, voice high and full of teenaged fury.

“You should be at home, or at _school_ , not fighting crime bosses—”

Spider-Man doesn’t reply, or even verbally interrupt. He leaps up, and Matt makes an attempt to keep up, but he’s wall-crawling and jumping away faster than he can follow, even with a gunshot wound.

“Shit,” Matt mutters.

…

Spider-Man is now definitely avoiding the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen, but he keeps his word to Matt Murdock, and keeps an eye on Mrs. Cardenas. Which was helpful, initially, before he found out that Spider-Man was a _teenager_ in _high school_.

And unless he visits Matt again in his apartment, he can’t catch him for another attempt to dissuade him from the vigilante gig.

Now Matt has nightmares of Fisk finding the teenaged boy who thwarted him, and making an example out of him. His dreams are filled with the smell of blood and the sounds of screams and guilt, until he wakes up with a start and a new sense of resolve.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen must talk to Spider-Man. He must.

So he goes as Matt Murdock.

…

Spider-Man has a pretty good track record of stopping people from being mugged, so Matt lets himself get mugged when he can sense the kid in the area. It’s not a difficult ploy; it is Hell’s Kitchen, after all, and people mistake Matt for an easy target.

He takes a couple punches to the gut and his glasses are broken before the smell of Spider-Man’s webbing waft over and Matt’s assailants are thoroughly taken care of in less than a couple of minutes.

“Who’s there?” Matt asks.

“Oh, hey,” Spider-Man says, recognizing him. “Uh, it’s Spider-Man. We’ve met before.”

“Ah,” Matt says, making a show of feeling for the brick wall of the building next to him to help him stand up.

“You need any help? Or an ambulance?” Spider-Man asks, coming close enough that he could reach out and grab Matt, if he wanted to. Matt appreciates that he doesn’t.

“I could use a hand getting home,” Matt says. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, sure! I can do that. Should I, uh, do you want to take my arm?”

“Please,” Matt says, smiling. He takes Spider-Man’s arm, and the kid is short, and the top of his outfit is literally a hoodie.

As they walk, Spider-Man starts chatting. “So, do you like podcasts?”

Matt huffs out a laugh. “I haven’t really listened to that many of them. I generally prefer audiobooks.”

“Oh, man, but there are _so_ many good podcasts out there!” Spider-Man says, “Some are super informative and non-fiction, but some are like… transformative auditory experiences. Like a book, but with sound effects.”

Matt tilts his head, considering. “Do you have any particular you’d recommend?”

This is all it takes for Spider-Man to enthusiastically fill the time it takes to walk back to Matt’s apartment, to which Matt doesn’t need to provide directions. Spider-Man remembers where he lives.

“Thank you, Spidey,” Matt says.

He shrugs. “No problem! It’s what I do.”

Matt has thought through what he wants to say and what to reveal for quite some time. He needs to take care; his last method of strong-arming Spider-Man into quitting only proved that he is perfectly willing to run.

And Matt would like to avoid revealing himself as the masked man. It might be necessary to do so during this conversation, but he thinks it would hurt more than help, given how their last interaction ended.

“You know,” Matt says, “you seem quite young.”

“What?” Spider-Man says, voice a bit high in surprise and panic. “Uh, no, I’m an adult! A man! I’m a man.”

Matt hums, disbelievingly. “If I had known how young you are, I never would have asked you to help. You know Fisk won’t hesitate, don’t you? He’d kill you, and it would just be another work day for him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spider-Man says, bouncing on his heels, constantly moving. The amount of energy the kid has makes Matt tired. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I got this. I’m good.”

“Kid—” Matt begins, but Spider-Man turns away from him to leave.

Matt reaches out and grabs his arm.

“Kid, hang on,” Matt says. The kid’s heart beat starts to—well, not race, not for a normal person, but it picks up significantly and his arm goes tense beneath his hand. He’s about to flee, but he’s not quite willing to push away a blind man yet. “If you’re not going to stop, then at least let me help you.” And then he adds, voice low, “How’s that bullet wound in your leg?”

The kid freezes. “Holy _shit—!”_

“Let me help you,” Matt repeats.

There’s a tense moment, Spider-Man’s head directed straight at him. “It’s already healed,” he says, finally.

It’s only been a few days. That’s… Matt’s a little envious. “Good,” he says. “If you get injured again, feel free to drop by. I have pretty much everything you could need in my first aid kit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Spider-Man says carefully. “I’m leaving now.”

Matt obligingly lets go of his arm, and Spider-Man’s gone in seconds.

…

…

“I’m here to kill you,” Wilson Fisk says, and Ben Urich knows he’s going to die, he knows it, but he’s going to go down fighting. For however much that helps.

Even if it’s just for the principle of the thing.

The moment of violence is stayed, however, when a sharp knock on the door cuts through the boiling energy in the room. Ben Urich was just about to stand up, to fight, to flee, or anything, and he’s certain Fisk wouldn’t have let him go far—and his apartment building is far from empty, and it’s nice enough that people would call the cops if they heard a gunshot, and Fisk likely knows this, so he’d probably use… some other way to kill him…

“Mr. Urich!” calls through the door, and Ben’s heart drops down all the way to his gut hearing Peter Parker’s voice. He feels like a fool for any sense of relief the interruption caused; he can’t let anyone else get dragged into this. “Hey, Mr. Urich, are you there? I’m, uh, dropping by to talk about the paper I’m writing for my internship!”

“Get the girl to leave,” Fisk says lowly, “or I’ll kill her too.” The automatic response to correct the gender pronouns for Peter dies long before it even gets to Ben’s mouth. This is far from the time, place, or person. “And don’t do anything stupid,” and out of his pocket, he pulls out a gun.

Ah. Ben didn’t think Fisk would risk the noise of a gunshot attracting attention, but he did come prepared nonetheless.

Ben can get Peter to leave. He can.

He stands up, knees shaking despite himself, and heads to the door.

The safety of the gun clicks off behind him, echoing with finality across the room.

His hands shake too, as he opens the door. Ben keeps the chain link firmly in place, so Fisk can’t see him, and Peter can’t barge in.

“Peter,” Ben says quietly, through the slight opening of the door. “This isn’t a good time. You should go home.”

“Oh,” Peter says, and there’s something in the expression on his face that makes Ben pause. “When would be a good time? I was hoping you could give me advice on how to approach my investigation and the structure of my article.” His voice is clear and carries, and has none of his usual hesitance or stutters.

Ben is sure Fisk can hear him. “Why don’t we talk about it later this week?” Ben suggests. “I’m going to be—busy,” he adds, trying not to think about how he’ll actually be dead in a few minutes.

Peter doesn’t reply, and for the life of him, Ben can’t recall exactly how Peter did what he did later on. One second Ben is talking to him through the crack in the door, chain link lock taut and in place, and the next Ben is on the ground with the door partially on top of him.

The chain link is cold against his face. There’s noise going on in his apartment, because Peter is in his apartment with Wilson Fisk, and they’re fighting, but the chain link is cold against his face and the base of is still has plaster on it from where it was ripped directly out of the wall.

His intern is fighting a kingpin.

“Shit!” Ben swears, scrambling from out from under the door, just as a gunshot rings out. He flinches back behind what little protection the door provides, before thinking _that’s a teenager, Peter’s just a teenager_ , before making himself get up to try to give Peter some time to escape, even though _how_ did he get through the locked door, how did that even happen—?

There’s another gunshot, and Ben flinches away again, which is just as well because Fisk runs past him and out of the apartment. Peter follows him, for a length, but it’s not long before he comes back. “Mr. Urich!” he says, eyes wide and innocent and concerned, but there’s blood on his shirt and on his knuckles and on his face. “Are you alright?”

The question is so egregious for the situation, Ben stares at him, silently. In the distance, he can hear sirens.

Sirens. That means cops. _Fisk’s_ cops. Shit.

“We’ve got to go,” Ben says. “And on the way, you can tell me how you did that.”

“Uh,” Peter says, and Ben wonders how this kid can be the same one he just say fighting a man three times his size without any fear. “Okay, yeah.”

…

Ben worries about running into Fisk on their way out, but they don’t run into him or any of his men. And to his surprise, Peter says, when Ben is peering out through the door of the building for any sign of someone waiting to jump them, “No one’s there, we’re good.”

“Christ, kid,” he says, but he exits and darts to his car, Peter not far behind. “Get in.”

Peter gets in, and puts on his seatbelt, because he’s a good kid and definitely isn’t the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

 _No, he really can’t be_ , Ben thinks. It was dark when the Devil cornered Ben by his car, but he got a decent idea of his stature. He hasn’t got the physique for it. The masked man was taller, broader, and older. What other masked vigilantes are out there?

“Spider-Man?” Ben guesses, and Peter does the best impression of a deer in headlights ben has ever seen. “Alright, then.”

“Crap,” Peter says. He sighs. “Please don’t print that.”

“Kid, I give you my word that I am not going to publish anything at all about you or Spider-Man,” Ben says, “but we need to be worried about the fact that you fought Fisk without your mask on. He’s going to dig into who you are and go after you.”

Peter’s eyes squeezed shut.

“We’re going to some friends of mine,” Ben says. “Then I’ll see if the man in the mask feels like making an appearance. We could use all the help we can get, but we’ll take care of it, Peter. Don’t worry.”

“My—my aunt,” Peter says.

Ben frowns. “Call her.”

“And what do I say? ‘Hey, Aunt May, I pissed off a mob boss, so he’s probably going to try to kill you, and it’s not safe to be home’?”

“Yes,” Ben says firmly. “She deserves to know what kind of danger she’s in.”

Peter goes quiet. Ben sighs.

“I’m sorry, kid. But she’s a grown woman. You got to let her know what’s happening so she can make her own decisions.”

“Yeah,” Peter mutters, fishing his phone out of his pocket. There’s silence as he calls.

“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter says. “It’s me. I’m, uh—I’m fine.” A pause. “Yeah, sorry I missed dinner, I, uh—” he sighs. “Aunt May, I was visiting Mr. Urich to talk about my article for the _Bulletin_ , and uh, I might have… stopped him from getting murdered?” Ben can see Peter flinch out of the corner of his eye. “From a crime boss,” he says, very quietly, as if May may not understand if he says it softly enough. “So, uh, he saw my face, and you should—yeah. Yeah. No, don’t go to the cops, they’re—some of them are on this guy’s payroll. Uh, Mr. Urich’s driving.”

Peter pauses again. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Is she going somewhere safe?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, she’ll stay at a friend’s. Uh, she says to put her on speaker…”

“Good,” Ben says. “And sure.”

“Mr. Urich?” May’s voice comes through the phone. “Is Peter okay?”

“Little bruised, but none worse for the wear,” Ben says. “Your kid saved my life tonight.”

“And I—I am so proud,” May says. “But also furious.”

“That’s fair,” Ben says. “I’m taking him somewhere safe. I’ve been working on taking down the guy who tried to kill me for a while, I know where to go. It may not be wise to get you and him in the same place tonight. And if you stop by your house, don’t go there alone, and don’t stay for long.”

“Shit,” May says. “Yes, alright. Peter, you will call me as soon as you get to where you’re going, alright? I expect updates.”

“Yeah, of course, Aunt May.”

“Mr. Urich, please don’t let anything happen to him,” May says.

“I won’t. I promise,” Ben says, and it’s not a promise he can keep, but he intends to keep it to the best of his ability.

“Good,” May says, “good.”

“I’ll call you again soon, okay, Aunt May?”

“Yes, okay, I need to—I’ll get to where I’m going, too. Then I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Peter,” May says. “Stay safe.”

“Love you, too,” Peter says, the call disconnecting.

The car is silent for a little bit. Ben clears his throat. “Thank you, by the way. I didn't say that before.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Peter protests. “I did what anyone would do.”

What a sweet, optimistic kid. “They really, really wouldn’t,” Ben says. “Hey, take my phone, give a call to Karen Page and Foggy Nelson, would you?”

“Uh, okay,” Peter says obediently.

Karen doesn’t answer. Ben can hear her voice on her answering machine. “Hang up and try Foggy. He’s usually pretty easy to reach.”

Peter does.

“Hey, Ben, what’s up?” Foggy’s voice says through the phone. He sounds quite awake for this time of night.

“Foggy,” Ben greets. “Wilson Fisk just attacked me in my apartment.”

“ _Shit!”_ Foggy exclaims, and they can hear him scramble up out of bed. “Are you okay? Where’s Fisk now? Holy shit, _how are you alive?”_

Ben glances at Peter and makes eye contact. “Spider-Man saved me.”

“Dude has the best timing, what the fuck,” Foggy says. “He saved Mrs. Cardenas the other day too.”

Well, that’s interesting. “We need to meet, somewhere safe.”

“The office,” Foggy says. “Wait, no. You shouldn’t go back to your apartment tonight. Just come to mine. I’ll put you up.”

“Alright,” Ben agrees. He doesn’t quite want to mention that he’s got both Spider-Man and a minor with him over the phone. “What’s the address?”

Foggy’s place is close to his office, and he promises to give Karen and Matt a call himself to have them all convene and figure out what to do next.

When they get to Foggy’s door, he does a double-take at Peter.

“Who’s this?” he asks, even as he steps aside so Ben and Peter can come inside. “Why’ve you got a kid with you?”

Ben holds Peter’s gaze, trying to measure how to proceed. Eventually, Peter sighs. “I’m Spider-Man,” he mumbles to the floor.

“What?” Foggy says, taken aback. “Can you repeat that, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you just said that you’re Spider-Man.”

“I _am_ Spider-Man,” Peter repeats, voice stronger.

“But you’re just a kid!”

“I’m not a kid!”

“Foggy,” Ben interrupts. “This is Peter. He’s my intern at the _Bulletin_. He is, in fact, Spider-Man. And he saved my life tonight.” Ben levels a stare at Peter. “By getting into a fistfight with Wilson Fisk. _Without_ his mask.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Foggy says, sounding impressed. And then, much less impressed and far more horrified, “Oh, holy shit.”

“We’ve called his aunt already and told her the situation. Neither she nor Peter should go back to their home for a while,” Ben says, pulling his glasses off to clean the smudges off of them. They’ve gotten dirty since he was almost murdered.

Jesus. Ben almost died tonight, and didn’t, because of a fifteen-year-old boy who never gets his coffee order right.

And now Peter and his aunt are in incredible danger themselves.

“Neither should you,” Foggy says. “Mrs. Cardenas is staying with Sergeant Mahoney and his mom, since she and Bess are friends already. You two, uh,” he says, glancing between them. “Can stay with me? Or one of you can stay with Karen, or Matt.”

“Did you get a hold of them?” Ben asks.

“I got a hold of Karen, she’s on her way. I think Matt’s out cold; I’ll try again in a bit,” Foggy says, leading them to his kitchen. Ben gratefully takes a seat at the little, plastic table he’s got set up, and Peter follows suit. “Either of you want water? Beer? Hot chocolate for the children among us?”

“Hey,” Peter says, offended. “I’m not a child.”

Foggy rolls his eyes. “Alright, any adults in the room want hot chocolate?”

Peter glares at him, then slouches. “Yeah, actually,” he mutters.

“Got anything harder than beer?” Ben asks.

“Uh, got some… whiskey.”

“Pour me some of that. Did you hear from Matt?”

Foggy frowns. “No. He’s, uh. I guess he didn’t hear his phone.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Ben sighs.

“Want me to go check on him?” Peter asks. “I’ve got my suit in my backpack.”

“No, I do not want to send a kid to check to see if Matt’s in trouble,” Foggy rubs his hand against his forehead. “I’ll give him another call.”

Ben takes a sip of the whiskey Foggy’s put in front of him, and the burn of it down his throat a welcome reminder that he’s still alive.

They brought Fisk’s mother into this. There’s no guarantee Fisk won’t track down all of their families now. Ben needs to—he needs to make sure Doris will be okay.

“Peter, I need to go make a call,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

Peter nods, a bit miserably, holding the glass of water Foggy gave him. Ben gets up and heads out to the living room, where Foggy seems to have gotten a hold of Matt.

“He’s on his way,” Foggy says. Strangely, Peter relaxes quite a lot at Foggy’s words. “He’s glad you’re okay.”

Ben nods, and pulls out his phone. He dials the general hospital, and spends some time waiting until he gets to the right person.

Quietly, so as not to get either Foggy or Peter involved, he makes sure that Doris’ placement at the hospital is secured under layers of confidentiality. Worry makes his gut squirm, though—nothing could stop Fisk, if he discovers Doris existence and location, from paying off someone there to poison her…

A hospice would have the same concerns. In the meantime, he impresses upon the hospital manager that no one aside from him should have access to Doris’ presence there and records, and after multiple reassures, he ends the call, not feeling better at all.

When he steps back into the kitchen, the expression on Peter’s face makes Ben swear. “You’ve got superhearing, don’t you?”

Peter nods, guiltily.

Ben sighs. “Yeah, of course you do. Keep it to yourself, alright?”

Peter nods again.

“Don’t forget to call your aunt,” Ben reminds him. “But don’t say where you are or who you’re with, aside from me.”

Peter startles as he nods, fishing his phone out of his pocket. His fingers shake a bit as he calls his aunt, drifting up and away as the phone rings.

Ben takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter says softly in the corner of the room. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I—” He stops. Ben tries not to listen, but the turmoil of his own thoughts do not allow him to focus away. “Okay,” Peter says, so much more quietly. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah. I will. I promise.” More quiet. “I love you, too.”

Peter pulls the phone away from his ear, and makes a loud sniffing noise that Ben pretends not to hear. He comes back to the table, rubbing his eyes.

“My aunt’s okay,” he says. “She’s at a friend’s place now.”

“Good to hear that,” Ben says, and the rest of the conversation is derailed when Foggy walks back in with Matt.

Peter freezes when Matt walks in, and obviously tries to hide his reaction by looking away from them. Ben looks between the two of them suspiciously.

“Are you alright, Ben?” Matt asks hoarsely. He has… bruises on his face, and he’s holding himself stiffly. Even for a blind guy with a propensity of running into walls, it seemed a bit much.

Ben glances between Matt and Peter, the cogs in his head chugging along despite the trauma of the night. Matt had his body angled to Peter, like he knows where he is, but the kid hasn’t spoken yet around him... and Peter’s acting like he _recognizes_ him…

“God fucking shit,” Ben swears. “What the fuck, Matt?”

“What are you—” Matt begins, seeming genuinely startled, but Ben cuts him off.

“I’m not an idiot, and I don’t think there’s anyone in this room who doesn’t know at this point. How the hell are you running around at night, beating up crime bosses?” Ben pauses. “How is it that our best chances right now are a kid and a _blind_ guy?”

“ _Are_ you really blind?” Peter asks tentatively.

Matt sighs, hand on his cane going lax. “Yeah,” Matt says. “I’m really blind. My eyes don’t work, but my other senses compensate, for the most part.”

“Oh, wow,” Peter says.

“What, and gave you super strength?” Ben asks.

Matt shakes his head a little, and Ben frowns. “Super healing?” Another negative. “Anything?”

“Nope,” Foggy says, popping the ‘p’. “He’s just a guy, who happens to have super senses but no vision who decided that his calling in life was to get beaten up in back alleys and evil lairs.”

“Hey,” Matt protests. “My calling in life is _justice.”_

There’s a brief moment of silence before the three of them burst in laughter.

Matt has the balls to look offended, but his lips twitch too. When they quiet down, he adds, “I do a fair share of beating up myself.”

“You don’t have superhealing?” Peter asks, when the mood of the room grows more solemn after Matt’s statement. “Oh, man, you are missing out.”

“He’s got Catholicism,” Foggy snarks. “And a super hot nurse.”

“Those don’t count,” Peter says, all teenaged seriousness and incredulity.

Foggy snorts. “Yeah, and thank god. Don’t think I could handle Super Catholicism.”

“Me neither,” Peter agrees, and thankfully any further discussion of religion is avoided by Karen’s loud, urgent knock on the door.

“Ben!” she cries, as soon as Foggy lets her in, rushing to Ben and throwing her arms around him. “Oh my god, I am—I am so sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” Ben soothes, wrapping his arms around her. His voice may not be as reassuring as he hopes, shaking a bit. “I knew what I was in for when I came aboard, Karen.”

When she pulls away from him, her eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks wet. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers. “I can’t imagine if…” She trails off, as her eyes glance over to where Peter is sitting.

There’s a moment where her confusion is palpable. “Who’s this?”

“This is Peter,” Ben says. “My intern at the _Bulletin_. Also Spider-Man. He saved my life tonight.”

“Are we really telling everyone?” Peter complains.

“I trust these three,” Ben answers. “And it’s not going to stay a secret for long in this room. Also, Karen,” he continues, and he sees Matt flinch even though he doesn’t try to stop him. “It turns out that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is our own resident Matt Murdock.”

“What?” Karen says, and repeats with an edge, “ _What_?”

“Surprise,” Matt says weakly, quailing in the face of Karen’s mounting intensity.

“Don’t blame me,” Foggy says, “I literally only found out earlier tonight when he was half-dead and wearing the mask in his apartment.”

“Catch me up,” Karen demands, “All of you.”

…

“Oh, Peter,” Karen says, after they all sit down for a nice, long, overdue chat that takes them well into morning. “Thank you so much. I can never thank you enough. You’re my new favorite superhero.”

Peter blushes, smiling a bit. “Really? Even more than Captain America?”

“Even more than Captain America,” she says, reaching across the table and giving his hand a quick squeeze. Peter beams.

Matt sulks by himself on the couch, to which he was relegated after a brief but democratic process on Foggy’s proposal “to shun Matt for lying to us and getting his ass nearly killed on a near nightly basis.” It succeeded with unanimous support through the emphatic votes of Foggy and Karen and apathetic votes of Ben and Peter.

“You’re my new favorite superhero, too,” Ben agrees, feeling exhausted and prickly after not sleeping all night. He rubs his eyes. “Okay. Okay. Peter, can you…” Words, like his thoughts, felt sluggish and came in pieces. “Maybe get your aunt to make an excuse for you not to be in school. While we deal with Fisk.”

“But I can help!” Peter protests. He doesn’t look tired. Ben envies his energy.

“I’m not taking a teenager with me to fight a kingpin,” Matt says. “Out of the question.”

“You can be our backup,” Foggy soothes. “Matt goes out to fight. Like the idiot he is,” he tacks on, “and you stay at home base just in case Fisk tries an attack on us.”

“We need to build out case against him,” Matt says from the couch. “We should have enough material by now. And really, can I come back to the table yet? This is juvenile.”

“You’re being shunned, Matt,” Foggy says. “ _Shunned_.”

“We need to make a plan,” Matt insists, standing up. He doesn’t come to sit at the table, beginning to pace around the apartment.

Foggy clears his throat. “I’ve, uh. I’ve maybe got something. I met with Marci tonight, before stopping at yours, and she, well…” he trails off. “She’s going to get us some documents from Landman & Zack.”

“That’s dangerous,” Matt states immediately. He frowns and quirks his head at Foggy. “How did you convince her to do that?”

Foggy shrugs. “It turns out she’s hold on to a piece of her soul. She’ll let me know tomorrow what she can get. If anything,” he adds. “We should go ask Brett if he knows anything he can share.”

“Once Marci gets you those documents, I can comb through them,” Karen says.

“Karen,” Ben says, “Fisk knows I wasn’t alone, visiting his mother.”

“What?” she says. “How did he know that?”

“Well,” Ben says, “he told me he has someone at the _Bulletin_ on his payroll.”

“Shit,” Foggy says. “Okay, so you can’t go back—”

“I can’t anyway, I was fired,” Ben adds, finishing off his drink.

Matt grimaces. “Okay, so low lie for a bit.”

“I can go through the documents with Karen, once you get them.”

“We all can,” Foggy adds in.

Peter clears his throat. “What should I do?”

Matt breathes out sharply through his nose, but Ben exchanges a look with Karen and Foggy and beats Matt to the punch. “You already have an important task,” Ben says. “Protecting the civilians. Matt and Foggy need to build their case against Fisk, and Matt can keep himself and Foggy safe. We need you to stick with us.”

“Yeah, but—”

This is a low blow, Ben knows, but he is very tired and desperately doesn’t want Peter to fight Fisk ever again. “I would have died if you hadn’t been there. So would Mrs. Cardenas. What happens next time if you’re not there?” he says, but he regrets almost instantly. Peter’s face pales to the point of sickly.

The words to take it back get stuck on his tongue, the thought of Peter ending up dead or worse choking them down. Harsh, but the kid will get over it.

“We should get going,” Matt says, breaking the tense silence. “Catch Brett at the precinct as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Foggy says, getting up. “Uh, you guys can just…”

“We’ll go into the office,” Karen says. “I’m planning to anyway, and even if Marci doesn’t send us anything, we need to do whatever research we can.”

“Well, here’s to hoping she’ll come through,” Foggy says, “because I don’t really know what other leads we’ll have.”

…

Marci came through with unanticipated gusto, providing thousands of files to encompass everything Landman & Zach had on Wilson Fisk.

And from these files, a single property address that had Matt running out in the black mask and shirt he called his costume.

“He needs a better costume,” Ben grouses over a mug of black coffee and a pile of legal documents. “He’s gonna get shot and that’ll be the end of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“I think it looks cool,” Peter says.

“Yeah, that’s because your costume is a mess. I’ve seen pictures of you in what, a hoodie?” Ben says. “Shit. A fifteen year-old is flinging himself around skyscrapers in his _pajamas_.”

“They’re _not_ pajamas, I made them _myself_ ,” Peter says, affronted. “And I got to keep the material thin so I can stick to walls.”

Ben peers at the kid over his coffee because _what does he do when it’s cold_ , but Karen asks, “You can stick to the walls? Like, you yourself?”

“Yeah!” Peter says, getting a little pink, and rushing up. Before Ben, Karen, or Foggy can say anything, Peter throws his shoes off and runs up the wall.

And stands, perpendicular to the ground, grinning at them.

“Whoa,” Foggy says.

“Are you actually sticky?” Karen asks.

“Nah, not really. It’s like—my hairs are weird, they grip things.”

“Your _hairs_?” Foggy repeats. “That’s kinda gross sounding.”

Peter shrugs. “As far as I can tell, I’m like, part spider now.” He rubs the back of his neck. “‘Gross’ is probably my default.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Karen says, kicking out her legs a bit at Foggy under the table, which doesn’t have any side covers so Peter can definitely see that. “I think spiders are really cute!”

“Wait,” Foggy says, “what do you mean, as ‘far as you can tell’?”

“Oh, well, I’ve run some tests, but there’s only so much I can do at the lab at school. I _think_ my DNA is different, but I don’t have any samples of it from _before_ this happened, so I can’t really be sure, and it’s not like my school has the equipment I need for that kind of test anyway,” Peter answers, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“So you haven’t gotten a medical professional to look over what’s happened to you?” Karen asks, while Foggy says, “You mean you’re not a mutant?”

“I don’t think so?” Peter answers. He’s growing visibly uncomfortable. “I mean, I guess it’s a possibility, but I think I got these powers from a mutant spider bite.”

“Mutant spider bite?” Ben repeats incredulously.

“Uh, Oscorp was experimenting on spiders and messing around with their DNA and… everything, I guess,” Peter says as he begins to crawl up the wall to the ceiling, settling down cross legged as if it was as comfortable to him as an open, grassy field. “And during a school trip of their building, one of them bit me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben mutters. “I need a drink.”

“It’s 9am in the morning,” Peter says, voice accusing and chiding in a judgemental way only children are capable of.

“Fuck, it’s only nine in the morning,” Ben says, checking his watch. A niggling sense that there was something he needed to do teased on the edge of his mind. “Oh shit, it’s already nine in the morning. Pete, call your aunt.”

“Oh, shoot,” Peter says, pulling out his phone.

…

In the end, May shows up at the Nelson & Murdock office. The first thing she does is pull Peter towards her in a hug, pressing kisses to his forehead while berating him for worrying her.

The rest of them dutifully give them their privacy as best they can, while sitting at the table in the room next door with no sound-proofing.

“How?” May is asking, “I mean, of course I’m proud of you, but I can’t imagine that Wilson Fisk is the kind of man who doesn’t know how to hold his own in a fight.”

“Yeah, I just kinda—just kept punching,” Peter says, and the three of them exchange a glance out of sight of May. At this point, it seemed… foolhardy of Peter to keep his superhero activities a secret from his aunt.

“So, what, you fist fought a kingpin and you won?” she asks incredulously.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter says, looking at his feet.

“Peter, when did you learn how to fight?”

“I, um, I… at school?”

The three of them wince at the poor delivery of the lie.

“Who are you fighting at school?” May asks, an edge to her voice that teeters on disbelief.

“Ms. Parker,” Ben says, standing up. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Ben Urich.”

May pulls herself away from her nephew. “Hi. May Parker.”

“Your kid saved my life tonight,” Ben says, because it bears repeating, and maybe it’ll take the heat off the kid for a little bit longer. Then he realizes his mistake because not sleeping destroys his sense of time. “Last night,” he corrects, tired. “You raised a good one.”

May sighs, and turns her face away. Ben doesn’t peer to closely, giving her privacy because he’s not really quite suited to comfort a crying woman right now, so he’d rather pretend not to notice. “I did,” she agrees quietly.

“Need some coffee?” Ben offers. “I’m sure Karen’s coffee is pretty good.”

May huffs, a bit. “I’d drink tar if it’d keep me awake.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Ben says, pouring some of the coffee Karen made into a couple of mugs.

Karen’s coffee was not, in fact, any good at all. “Better than tar,” May mutters to him, before they rejoin Karen and Peter to sift through the documents.

It’s a long time waiting for any news.

…

When the news of Fisk’s arrest arrives and Matt returns, Karen pulls out a bottle of champagne from the fridge, and they all celebrate. May even lets Peter have a little sip of hers.

“Thank god, we can go home,” she says, leaning back in the chair. With the amount of people in the office, they had to pull Matt’s and Foggy’s chairs out of their offices. “I can only stay at the synagogue so long before someone notices.”

“What?” Peter says. “You stayed at the synagogue? You said you stayed at a friend’s house!”

“I lied, sweetie,” May answers calmly. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“But at the synagogue?” Peter exclaims. “Are you allowed to do that?”

“It’s a synagogue, sweetie,” May answers, “It’s locked at all times, I have a couch in my office, and a bag in case of emergencies already prepared there. I didn’t even have to go home.”

“Oh, you’re Jewish,” Matt says.

“Yes,” she says, “I’m a rabbi.”

“I’m sure you’re a great one,” Matt voice tinged with respect that Ben’s only really heard him use when talking about that Father at his church. “If how you’ve raised Peter is any indication.”

She chuckles. “I sure like to think so.”

“She is,” Peter confirms, a tinge of pride in his voice. May reaches over and ruffles his hair.

Their happy, elated mood only lasts as long as Fisk remains in custody, and then it’s all despair and Matt making a poor excuse to leave.

At least with May present, Peter makes no attempt to join in the fray himself. It’s a small mercy, as far as Foggy’s concerned.

…

It all turns alright in the end, which is frankly baffling to Ben. He doesn’t believe in happy endings, but he knows to take what he can get.

When Fisk is re-captured and is taken to where he’s going, at long last, they breathe a sigh of relief together in a much less jubilant manner than before.

“Let’s go home, Peter,” May says, after a long period of silence among them. “You’ve still got school tomorrow,” she adds a bit faintly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay, May.”

Hugs are given all around—for all that May and Peter just met most of them, there’s nothing quite like trying to get a crime lord arrested so he doesn’t kill them all that brings people together—and they leave.

“Do you need a place to sleep tonight?” Karen asks him.

Ben thinks about going back to his apartment, to checking the shadows in all of the rooms for Wilson Fisk waiting to kill him. “Yeah,” he says, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

Karen smiles, a bit strained. “Not at all.”

…

Days pass. The tension fades bit by bit. Ben has to go back to his apartment, but Karen comes with him and helps him make it more secure, like she had to after Daniel Fisher died in her apartment, and Union Allied tried to kill her.

It helps. He might have to move, but he can stay there, for a while.

Ben gets his job back, which also helps. The empty desk that remains after the feds arrested the employee on Fisk’s payroll is steadfastly ignored. The feds took the computer, in case it held evidence, and Ellison had all of the employee’s personal belongings removed. Ben’s not sure what he did with them.

Peter shows up, a bit sheepishly, after a few days with coffee.

“Hey there, Pete,” Ben says, “come on in.”

“Hey, Ben,” Peter says. He comes into his office and shuts the door. “They gave you your office back?”

“Sure did. Might have been fired, but Mitchell came by to beg me to come back,” Ben smiles. “I might have let him grovel longer than necessary.”

Peter laughs, a bit, but it’s strained.

“What’s up, Pete?” Ben asks, accepting the cup of coffee. “You haven’t been in for the past few days—you’re not quitting, are you?”

Peter fidgets, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “Oh, uh, no, of course not. But, um—I just—I wanted to make sure you’re not going to tell on me to my aunt?”

Ben lowers his cup of coffee. “About that,” he says. “I haven’t said anything to your aunt yet, but I also I’m not comfortable keeping the fact you’re putting yourself into danger from your aunt.”

“Please, you can’t tell her,” Peter begs.

“Pete,” Ben begins comfortingly, “we’re talking about your mom here. No, I mean it—she may not have birthed you, but she’s definitely your mom. And if you get yourself hurt or killed out there because I never told her what you were getting up to after curfew, I don’t think I could live with myself.”

“No, you _can’t_ ,” Peter insists, and Ben realizes to some shock that he looks like he might start crying. “She hates mutants. You can’t tell her, _please_.”

Ben’s brows raise in surprise, a bit thrown off. “Really? She didn’t seem anti-mutant—”

“She is, she makes comments about it, she’s made comments about _Spider-Man_ ,” Peter says miserably.

“But you’re not a mutant, exactly, are you? You said it was some sort of spider bite—”

“Yeah, it was, but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? I looked into Oscorp’s studies with those spiders, and they’re not supposed to do _anything_ like this,” Peter says, distinctly uncomfortable and anxious. “They’ve bitten people before, and this has never happened. Otherwise, there’d be a lot of people like me running around. And there _aren’t._ It’s possible that I have the X-gene, and the spider bite, like… activated it, or something.”

Ben takes in a deep breath. May’s an open-minded woman, and everything the kid has said about her supports that since before now. “Weren’t you worried about coming out to her before you did? How is this different?”

“Of course it’s different! Just because she’s cool with the trans thing doesn’t mean she’s gonna be cool with the ‘hey your kid’s a half-spider freak!’” Peter says, voice a little shrill in anger and frustration. Ben’s eyes flick to the window of his office, and Peter quiets down instantly. “She makes comments. About how the X-Men are dangerous, and how Spider-Man’s dangerous, okay?”

God, Ben hates dealing with teenagers. Peter’s a good kid, but it’s moments like this that reminds him why he never had his own. The sheer amount of emotional intensity they feel all the time is exhausting to be around. “Kid, you can’t expect me to sit back and quietly let a teenage boy risk his life every night.”

The kid’s face becomes mutinous, and Ben tries to desperately think of a compromise that’ll keep Peter safe without telling his aunt. And… Ben can’t even tell his aunt without his conscious protesting now, either. If she really is anti-mutant, Ben can’t say without any doubt how she would react or how she might treat Peter.

“Okay, how about,” Ben starts, words coming out before he really considers what he’s saying, “we talk to Murdock. See if he can give you some training. Some skills to help keep you alive in a fight.” And hopefully keep an eye on the kid during their patrols, but that might be pushing it with Peter.

Speaking of, the kid’s face grows cautiously hopeful. “You’d think he’d do that?”

“Sure do,” Ben says. And Matt will, because Ben would pull every single dirty trick in the book to make him.

Peter breathes out. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Urich.” Ben walks him out of the office and across the floor to the elevator, but instead of getting on, he lingers. Fidgeting and tense enough to make what wouldn’t have been an awkward situation incredibly awkward.

“Is there something else, Peter?” He asks, when it’s clear Peter’s not ready yet to get onto the elevator.

“CanIhaveahug?” the kid asks quickly, and Ben blinks as he processes the sounds into separate words.

“Oh,” Ben says, “yeah, sure, kid.”

Peter darts in for a hug, squeezing him briefly, and pulls back. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, not really making eye contact.

“Me too, kid,” Ben says, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “Now get out of here and go skateboard or loiter or whatever it is the kids do for fun these days.”

Peter laughs. “Me and Ned were gonna recreate Hogwarts with Legos,” he says, smiling.

Ben blinks. For a kid who thinks recreational vigilantism is an acceptable nightly activity, that’s surprisingly tame. Although, Ben thinks, he has to have an outlet somewhere. “That’s… sounds pretty cool, actually. Let me know how that turns out.”

He grins. “Will do!” and bounces into the elevator.

Ben breathes out slowly after the doors close, and makes his way back to his office. There, he closes the door.

He takes out his phone and looks through his contacts to make a call. When it’s answered, Ben says, “Hey, Matt. We gotta talk about the kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to she5los for help with the Spanish, and thanks to shuofthewind for helping with the titles! Let me know if I need to make any corrections to the Spanish. 
> 
> here's a translation of the Spanish since I forgot to add that in before:
> 
> “¡Los policías, intentaron dispararme!” / "The cops, they tried to shoot me!"
> 
> “¿Está bien? ¿Está lastimada?” / "It's okay? Are you hurt? "
> 
> “Spider-Man me salvó.” / "Spider-Man saved me."
> 
> “Bien. Bien.” / "Good. Good."
> 
> “Señor Murdock, creo que le dispararon. Cuando los policías ... él saltó frente a mí.” / "Mr. Murdock, I think he was shot. When the cops ... he jumped in front of me. "
> 
> “Estoy asustada" / "I'm scared"


End file.
